He texted her his itinerary two days later: he was flying in on Friday evening. To survive the wait, she loaded her diary with every task that she'd been postponing, or even just considered at some point of time in her life. It worked - except for at night, when she would turn, grumble, overthink, ruminate, and get annoyed with herself; cover and uncover; try to settle, and fail most miserably. Tartufo sighed and threw her judgemental looks, shaken out of his perfectly enjoyable slumber by her restless legs.
On Friday, she returned to the cottage after work - and started running around the house, moving things. Her faffing about couldn't be considered tidying up, since, if anything, she was creating even more chaos. They hadn't discussed whether they'd meet when he arrived; and if they did, where that would be - but she just couldn't stop. She was rolling the gizmo that collected cat fur on the upholstery of her sofa, when she had a sudden thought that a shower wouldn't go amiss, just in case; and she rushed to the bathroom. As she was shaving, scrubbing, and massaging, she lied to herself that she wasn't prepping her plump form for Alexander's consumption - and she paused and exhaled a long 'oh,' overwhelmed by the images of said consumption process.
Tartufo, for some bizarre reason, chose to accompany her every time she went to the bathroom these days, and napped on the small stool that she'd initially intended for clothes or a towel.
"No, no, focus," she muttered and grabbed a bar of Mrs. and Mrs. Tidmarsh's organic goat milk soap. "Talking, that's what you're going to be doing. Just talking."
The cat gave out its usual 'broop,' and Jackie peeked at him from behind the curtain.
"Are you planning to hide from him? He might be staying the night."
The cat, of course, ignored her; and Jackie went back to her polishing and moisturising efforts.
The question of an outfit arose; and twenty minutes Jackie was ready to cry. She was sitting on the bed, half of her wardrobe scattered on it; and she groaned and flopped backwards. Tartufo jumped onto the bed and started wandering around, spreading his fur, and occasionally clawing a random item.
"You could help instead, yeah?" she pointed out.
A text came to her phone; and she flailed in panic, imagining that he'd arrived earlier, and she'd be meeting him dressed in her trackies and a well-loved tee. She swiped across the screen. It was a reminder from her dentist in Bristol that her cleaning and check-up were overdue. Jackie sighed and accepted that her torture was continuing.
By nine, when he was expected to land, she was dressed in a modal loungewear set: wide trousers and a soft top; her hair was washed, dried, and somewhat styled, with a tinge of wax but no hairspray; so it was nice to touch, if so it happened that someone was willing to give it a go.
At nine thirty she was so antsy that Tartufo left her side and went to sleep in his new basket. By ten she'd had three cups of tea, crunched half a bag of mint humbugs, and attempted to read a book three times, only to realise that she'd picked up a different one each time.
She blamed the amount of brew that she'd downed, for almost missing his call. She stumbled out of the toilet, rushed to the coffee table, slammed her knee into it, and grabbed her mobile.
"Yes! Yes, I'm here! Hi!"
"Hi."
"Hi!" She ordered herself to lower the volume to a sane level. "Sorry, I was– I left my phone in another room, so I had to run. Have you landed?"
"Yeah. Waiting for my luggage."
There was a pause. Jackie considered stuffing something in her mouth to prevent her from blabbing out a myriad of questions, chatting, and inviting him.
"Should I call you tomorrow morning?" he finally asked. "I might have a lie-in. Time difference is mad."
"Oh I forgot about it," Jackie exclaimed, immediately feeling guilty for her fantasies of getting her hands on him as soon as he arrived - or at least of being in the same room as him. She properly had no right to expect anything. "It'll probably take you a while to reset. Just give me a call when you've recuperated."
He was silent again; she could hear some sort of airport announcements in the background.
"Alexander."
"Yeah?"
Jackie squeezed her eyes tightly and reminded herself that it was Alexander. He'd plainly refuse her if he didn't fancy something.
"Would you like me to come to your place?" she asked. "Or you can come here, if there's no food at yours. Or no clean sheets. Or– Or I can come to yours. If you want. That's totally optional, of course. And you must be tired. What am I saying? Of course you're tired. Um–" She exhaled a shaky breath. "What I mean is that I'd love to see you as soon as possible, but I'm OK with anything."
She let him ponder his options; and then there was a series of bangs and thuds on his end of the line.
"Alexander?"
"Yeah, sorry, luggage." His voice sounded strangled; and then he was back. "Yes, I'm here. I'll take a cab to your place."
"Oh! I mean, yay," Jackie blurted out, and then clapped her hand to her forehead.
She was childishly fond of twee interjections; but they surely didn't make her appear sensual and sophisticated, did they?
He chuckled quietly. "See you soon, Jackie."
***
She opened the door for him - and heard clamorous scampering and scratching in the sitting room, behind her. Tartufo was fleeing his basket, spooked by what, no doubt, seemed to him a direct threat to his life.
"Oh c'mon, cheetie, it's no way to treat a guest!" Jackie cooed - predictably, with no luck - and turned back to Alexander. "Oh, you're so tanned!"
His right hand flew to his face, to his much longer beard. His curls stood around his head as if he was a Tim Burton character.
"Hi." His eyes were intent on her, and she instantly felt acutely shy.
"Come in, come in." She took a step back and to the side. "How was your flight?"
"OK," he answered, either agreeing to enter, or giving a mark to his travelling experience.
He dropped his bag on the floor; something loudly clanked in it; probably, his climbing equipment.
"Would you like some tea? Some food? I've made chicken kiev, and there are ingredients for rice bowls too. And other things," she finished vaguely.
He definitely didn't need to know that she'd overprepared and now had enough food for a dozen healthy young males, which she'd have to portion and somehow store in her freezer that was overflowing with his ice cream.
"May I wash my hands?" he asked and left after her disproportionately enthusiastic 'sure, sure!'
Jackie rushed to the kitchen, started the kettle, and started aimlessly touching and abandoning bits and bobs on her counter.
"You look nice," he said behind her, and she spun around.
"Um, thank you." Her cheeks flushed. "Sit, sit, please! You must be exhausted!"
"I'll have some chicken kiev, please," he said.
Jackie jumped into action. While she plated the chicken, mash, and roasted vegetables; she asked this and that about his trip; he gave her his usual concise answers. The whole time she could feel his gaze on her back.
"Here you go!" She put the plate in front of him. "Is this good? I remember you were OK with these sides, but feel free to pick and choose, obviously."
"Jackie."
"Yes?"
He lifted and opened his hand. "Can I touch you?"
"Of course!" Her voice cracked, and she huffed. "Sorry, I'm so loud. I'm really nervous."
She slid her hand onto his palm.
"Why are you nervous?"
"I missed you so much, and you're here," she whispered, distracted by his scorching, calloused palm, and his strong fingers. "And I still feel terrible for– before. And I need to apologise–"
He pulled, carefully but insistently - and Jackie oophed and landed on his lap. His arms went around her, enveloping her in heat.
"Does this mean you accepted my apology?" she squeaked.
"No," he murmured and studied the side of her face. Now even her ears were burning. "You still have to apologise."
There was an unfamiliar scent coming off his hair and skin, something perfume-y and way too strong for him.
"I'm sorry for not calling or texting you when you asked me to," Jackie pronounced diligently, unsuccessfully trying to ignore his body so very close to hers. "I'll do better from now on."
"And will there be any?" he asked and rubbed his nose to the underside of her jaw.
Jackie suppressed a moan.
"What?" She couldn't quite remember if there was a question she needed to answer.
"What are we doing 'from now on?'"
"Did you accept my apology?" Jackie croaked.
She had about three seconds of self-control left; and she would need to run out of the kitchen to avoid planting one on him without his explicit consent.
"Yeah," he muttered.
She whipped her head, grabbed him - pretty much by his ears - and snogged him.
***
His hands grabbing her backside, he shifted her, arranging her to straddle him; and Jackie gasped.
"Alexander, maybe we– You must be knackered–"
He greedily sucked on her neck; and Jackie's nails sank into the thick black jumper on his shoulders.
"Maybe we should talk first." She was valiantly fighting the randy daze. "And you should eat. Oh god... It's happening again," she whined.
He withdrew and then stuck his nose behind her ear and chuffed. She missed this sound!
"What's happening again?" His voice was muffled.
She squeezed him with her legs.
"You, me, this..." She squirmed. "And in this position again. Like the first time we kissed, on the windowsill."
Except, their circumstances had changed - or maybe Jackie had evolved.
"Is this bad or good?" he asked
"It's very good," she affirmed. "I think we should revisit that spot at some point."
"How about now?" he said and started rising.
And then he wobbled and dropped back onto the chair.
"How about you eat first?" Jackie offered and tenderly kissed his cheekbone.
"If I eat, I'll crash," he groaned. "I had a seven hour connection in Amsterdam. I can't sleep anywhere but in my own bed. Or yours."
"Oh my god, how are you still standing?" Jackie stroked the sides of his face, valiantly pushing the salacious thoughts about this longer, thicker beard to the back of her mind. "Please eat, and let's go to bed. You need sleep."
"I don't want to." He pouted. "I want to shag."
Jackie snorted. "I know. I'm sitting on the evidence. But we can always do it later."
She started sliding off, and he jerked her to him. She brushed her hand to his arm encircling her waist, the bicep bulging under the soft sleeve.
"I can eat like this. And I took a shower during the layover. In the VIP lounge. So once I'm done, we can go straight to bed," he said and sent a piece of chicken to his mouth.
He managed three bites - and then he had to catch his dropping head. He jolted, his eyes glassy. Jackie carefully pried the fork out of his fingers, climbed off, and pulled at his hand.
She led him to the bedroom; he stumbled and swayed; and she deftly divested him of his jumper, trousers, and socks; and stuffed him under her duvet.
"Love the trousers on your arse," he slurred - and was out.
Jackie quickly cleaned up in the kitchen, climbed into the bed, curled into him, and fell asleep in seconds.